“Ah!” says the Wind-screen, “that's Discipline, that is. Through my little window I see most things, and don't I just know that poor discipline always results in poor work in the air, and don't you forget it.”
“Discipline is it?” complains the Under-carriage, as its wheels roll swiftly over the rather rough ground. “I'm bump getting it; and bump, bump, all I want, bang, bump, rattle, too!” But, as the Lift increases with the Speed, the complaints of the Under-carriage are stilled, and then, the friendly Lift becoming greater than the Weight, the Aeroplane swiftly and easily takes to the air.
Below is left the Earth with all its bumps and troubles. Up into the clean clear Air moves with incredible speed and steadiness this triumph of the Designer, the result of how much mental effort, imagination, trials and errors, failures and successes, and many a life lost in high endeavour.
Now is the mighty voice of the Engine heard as he turns the Propeller nine hundred times a minute. Now does the Thrust fight the Drift for all it's worth, and the Air Speed Indicator gasps with delight, “One hundred miles an hour!”
And now does the burden of work fall upon the Lift and Drift Wires, and they scream to the Turnbuckles whose business it is to hold them in tension, “This is the limit! the Limit! THE LIMIT! Release us, if only a quarter turn.” But the Turnbuckles are locked too fast to turn their eyes or utter a word. Only the Locking Wires thus: “Ha! ha! the Rigger knew his job. He knew the trick, and there's no release here.” For an expert rigger will always use the locking wire in such a way as to oppose the slightest tendency of the turnbuckle to unscrew. The other kind of rigger will often use the wire in such a way as to allow the turnbuckle, to the “eyes” of which the wires are attached, to unscrew a quarter of a turn or more, with the result that the correct adjustment of the wires may be lost; and upon their fine adjustment much depends.
And the Struts and the Spars groan in compression and pray to keep straight, for once “out of truth” there is, in addition to possible collapse, the certainty that in bending they will throw many wires out of adjustment.
And the Fabric's quite mixed in its mind, and ejaculates, “Now, who would have thought I got more Lift from the top of the Surface than its bottom?” And then truculently to the Distance Pieces, which run from rib to rib, “Just keep the Ribs from rolling, will you? or you'll see me strip. I'm an Irishman, I am, and if my coat comes off—— Yes, Irish, I said. I used to come from Egypt, but I've got naturalized since the War began.”
Then the Air Speed Indicator catches the eye of the Pilot. “Good enough,” he says as he gently deflects the Elevator and points the nose of the Aeroplane upwards in search of the elusive Best Climbing Angle.
“Ha! ha!” shouts the Drift, growing stronger with the increased Angle of Incidence. “Ha! ha!” he laughs to the Thrust. “Now I've got you. Now who's Master?”
And the Propeller shrieks hysterically, “Oh! look at me. I'm a helicopter. That's not fair. Where's Efficiency?” And she can only sadly reply, “Yes, indeed, but you see we're a Compromise.”